Epilogue
by MaggieMai
Summary: About Jareth, after the loss of his dream. Rated for future... stuff.
1. Masquerade

Disclaimer: I do not own Labyrinth. I simply use the world created by Jim Henson to fulfill my own twisted fantasies of author-ness.

It was just another grand masquerade; another night to remember in a ballroom full of thoughtless beings and forgetful hearts. Hundreds of hollow souls waltzed across the black and white veined marble floors, enjoying every everlasting moment of their damnation. He was merely one among many, a tall, pale, tantalizing figure pretending to be thoroughly distracted by the light striking a gilded mirror mounted on the golden walls or glinting off the intricate embroidery on faery gowns and jewels bared on bone white breasts.

He sauntered slowly through their numbers, assuming his role as one of their own, sipping calmly from his fluted crystal glass. The black gloved hand that held it was lithe and steady as his dark clothed form parted the writhing mass of immortal, dream woven flesh. The blood red wine flowing past his barely parted lips was sweet and strong, like the influence of adolescence upon the dreams of a soft skinned girl-child. With each step he took, eyes followed in his wake, female and male alike, gathering to him like shadows to a guttering candle flame. Eternally cold hands reached out to pet and stroke his fine, dark coat as he walked by. Their pallid, diamond limbs bearing feathered fans and masks that were a parody of grotesque, misshapen goblin leers.

He slipped easily from their grasps, not deigning any of them a second thought. His eyes smoldered behind his black mask; sharp, crystalline eyes that could threaten and love with one fierce look. His mismatched eyes that burned with false promises and deadly dreams. Eyes that in this immortal realm of Labyrinth caused both terrible fear and even more terrible lust in its lords, ladies, and lesser fae. Even more dangerous than his magic gaze though, was the dark power that haunted the blurred edges of his dreams. Dreams filled with wicked desires that he would not admit to, because to acknowledge them would be to acknowledge that he had failed to attain them. Let them think what they will of his brooding glares and feral smiles, for his impatience was not for them, but with them. He did not want the stoney caress of this People who thought themselves gods over Men. The caress he valued was that of fleeting mortal flesh, that flame-like existence that burned with unbearable heat for such a short time before being consumed by the spell of time.

Unlike the rest of his brethren, he had only ever longed for one thing, and in a single fell swoop he had destroyed everything he had dreamed of for all his eternities. He walked the road of lost souls and shattered dreams, and he hated himself for it.


	2. At the Bottom

He wandered the desolate twists and turns of his Labyrinth, that great maze that so many cultures had idolized in myth. Distant strains of faery music drifted through the humid night air, haunting the darkness with the faintest trace of an ancient lullaby. The sky was the heavy blue black of a silken bruise on young white flesh, a sinister navy that matched its master's soul. The damp air clung to the stiff embroidery of his blue velvet coat as a near empty wine bottle dangled loosely from his fingers, the dregs swirling in time with his unhurried gait. The air condensed upon the stout silver buttons on his boots as he made his winding way around jagged corners of pale stone and over the broken tiles underfoot. He passed beneath and arch of ivory-stemmed roses that appeared black in the feeble light of the full moon. Hanging full and round in the sky, blurred by the warm, damp air of an eternal Underground summer, it emerged above the hedges as no more than a silver trinket to be plunked from the air and handed over to an impatient, petulant child. 

He walked the same path that he walked every night. A path that was now as familiar to him as his own magicks. A path he always drifted along half-drunk until dawn. He had left the revel and its drunken participants far behind preferring solitude to the pursuits of the Gentry. The derelict walls of the Labyrinth fell in close as he spiraled into the heart of his Court, the very core of himself. The aura of his power focused in and he could feel it, like a string held taunt between two distant points. His skin burned as though scorched the farther into Himself he went. The veins that fed him, the source of his life, itched and twisted beneath his flesh seeking release. He pulled his hands along the serrated blocks of stone leaving a scattered trail of blood and skin in his wake. To those who knew what to look for would be able to see the glimmering substance of dreams scraped carelessly along the ramparts of the Castle. They would see a title of ownership secreted upon the stone that spelled out in a most brilliant sense of magick who all of this belonged to. 

_Jareth_.

The walls whispered his name. Pushed themselves to the limit to absorb that which their lord offered without recompense. Dreams. Hope. Magick. The very stuff that life thrived upon. 

He could no longer hear the poignant melodies from the revel and thus began to sing himself. Softly, under his breath, to himself but not for his ears alone. The path before him opened up and stepping beneath a canopy of curling purple tendrils of night-drunk ivy, he found himself in an orchard of crooked fruit trees dominated by an ornate fountain of plain granite filled with algae and stagnant water. He followed the curve of the wall at his back and paused in his song long enough to throw back his golden head to finish the last of the wine in one long swallow.

The bottle slipped from his numb fingers and fell like a graceless angel to shatter on the uneven bricks at his feet. Continuing the song he crouched down to look at shards and the pattern they had created. He read them like tea leaves, turning his head to the side like an intelligent bird and moving them about to form new patterns and what ifs. The thick glass ground lightly against the rough mortar, leaving the tiniest of scratches along the clear surfaces. Head bowed he sighed and ran his hands through his tousled locks, still singing quietly. He sat back on his heels and leaned against the brick wall, turning his head to where his cheek just rubbed the jagged stone. 

A mortal breath passed across his brow. _She was here. _

Barely, but there all the same. Her scent, her taste, the sound of her footsteps, the rapid beat of her heart, her very essence lingered here in one of so many places in the Labyrinth. Her dream was the strongest here. His hold on her was anchored here. 

He closed his eyes and pressed his face closer to the rock. The flash of her memory (the blush of her neck compared to that virgin white gown) and the steady pressure, the build up of pain allowed him to release the spell. The same spell he sent to her every night. The same trap, the same temptation. The same dream to try and lure her back. 

The temperature of the air surrounding his body instantly dropped. The water in the air froze and clung to him, coating his face and clothing in a malignant glittering sheen. His breath curled out of his mouth and nose like a tolerant, but no less hungry, dragon. He appeared to be a most expert smoker and in every sense he was an addict. The muscles in his arms were tense and strained the seams of his frock coat as both hands drew arcane symbols into the loose dirt on the floor as his lips moved in time with the almost silent composition. The voice that fell from between his parted lips was low and harsh, as though the words were tearing at the tender pink flesh of his throat as he sang. Despite its brutal trappings there was something evocative in how he sang and in how wonderfully tragic the tenor of his voice spun the spell. 

"I'll paint you mornings of gold, I'll spin you Valentine evenings…"

His hands moved in the same rhythmic pattern over and over as though tracing the same shape over and over again. His song went unrelenting as the shard of glass at his feet began to crack and shift from the weight of the frost, causing the glass to groan under the strain of his magick. He slowed the tempo of his song and his voice became a melodious poison falling like honey from his blue-pink lips. 

"Though we're strangers till now, we're choosing the path between the stars…"

His voice broke. He burned at the thought of her. His body ached, for he loved to fiercely and his love burned too bright. His fingers dug into the ground, wishing to find purchase in her soft, sweet flesh. His heart filled his chest until he choked in the unknown taste of her lips. 

"I'll lay my love-"

The slightest of sounds, like that of bare feet on damp earth, stole the melody from him. His fingers ceased their restless movement and his eyes shifted to the source of the noise. Keeping his eyes trained on the darkness around him, he pursed his lips and blew gently across his palm forming a bright glowing ball of crystal from his steaming breath. The shining orb placed him within a pool of malleable light. The same sound of footsteps approached where he sat when a dark silhouette lingered at the edge of light, leaving only a tiny pair of feet illuminated. His lips parted in incredulity. Fragments of ice fell from his face in a glimmering rain of precious debris. 

"Sarah?" he whispered. Bright, desperate hope flared in his face as he clumsily climbed to his knees, ice chips scattering with his awkward movement. 

She stepped forward into the light and it was her, sweet gods, it was her. She tilted her head to the side and watched him but something was not right. 

Her eyes were what gave her away.


	3. Disappointment

Sarah's eyes were green. Hers were not.

He felt as though he would be violently sick. The heart that had leapt with such anxious desire fell heavy in his chest. He could not breathe, could hardly move with his blatant humiliation. A cruel smile of self- inflicted hatred bared his face in a most feral grin as he glanced away with a curse dead on his lips. When he glanced back, he saw not his ladylove, but the truth behind the well constructed façade.

"Hello, Cousin."

The crystal in his hand burst in a shattering of glitter and glass as the whole courtyard was illuminated with a steady light that left the tiny garden in part shadow. Jareth stood as graceful as if he were not half drunk on faery wine and banished the ice clinging to his person with an elegant wave of his long, black-gloved hand.

The girl who was not Sarah smiled in a way that would cause a monk to curse his vows. It was too knowing, too jaded of matters that she should not be aware of. Her plump, round, childlike features that betrayed her youth melted away to reveal a face that was drastically different from that of the would-be faery bride.

Her skin was the color of sepia, like faded red-brown ink on an old slip of parchment. The face was angular with impossibly high cheeks, a dazzlingly straight nose, and a cleverly pointed chin, with eyes that flamed the color of poisonous poppies. Her body was both hard and alluring, strong yet so very female. Hair so red that is was almost black fell in thick strands to the back of her thighs, swaying with her steps. Morgaine le Fae: sorceress, lover, witch, but Faery above all else.

"I did not know you had returned, Morgaine. I fear that as Host, I have sorely neglected my task in welcoming you home." Jareth's face was as blank as his voice. He was the child caught playing with matches, claiming innocence even though he held the smoking article of guilt in his hand. He knew that she had seen him work his spell.

Morgaine stepped forward and with a coy grin stretched out her hand for him to kiss. Her gown was dark red, the sleeves that brushed the floor and her belt were decorated with cranes and knots of embroidery which fell back as he brought her hand up to his lips. He surprised her at the last moment by flipping her palm and running his blue lips across her exposed wrist instead.

Her eyes turned dark for a mere second as the touch of his lips sent a shivering thrill down her spine and illicit thoughts whipped through her mind. Jareth was good, but not good enough to tempt her. She pulled her hand from his grasp and swept him a swift, informal curtsy.

She spoke in a low, raspy tone and her eyes shimmered with glee at her new secret. "Your Majesty is far too kind. But how could a stay on Avalon when all of the fun is too be found here in the Court of the Goblin King?"

With the formalities out of the way, he granted her a half felt smile as he pulled her to him for a long overdue embrace.

"It has been too long, Morgaine. I am surprised that the Sisters could manage without you, it being so close to Beltane," Jareth murmured into her ear as she pulled back to look at him.

He was not his usual sparkling self. She could smell the faery wine on his breath and saw how dim his mismatched eyes were. The lines around his mouth and eyes were grim and he held himself stiffly, as if it hurt him to move. Morgaine could feel his despair and cradled his face in her hand as she asked, "Who is she?"

For once she was not calculating or hard. Her face held an uncommon concern for the fae before her.

His answer came pragmatic and cautious, more so than normal. "No one. Just a mortal I've taken to watching. I find her quite-" Morgaine unexpectedly pulled one of his crystals from the sleeve of her gown, a scene caught suspended in within. "Fascinating," he breathed pulling farther away from her. His eyes never left the object in her palm.

"Jareth," she laughed playfully. "You never could lie to me." She tossed the ball to him and watched as he became fixated on the figure it held. "You shouldn't leave your toys lying about the Castle." She watched him as the moments passed and he was held in thrall to the contents of the crystal. She saw him run a caressing finger down the smooth glass surface as the picture of a young girl brushing her hair shifted to one of her in bed locked in a fitful sleep. A sigh escaped Jareth, his eyes overly bright. It was worse than Morgaine could have imagined.

He was enraptured and there was nothing she could do to save him.


End file.
